"Loch Lomond" by Horatio McCulloch‘On Loch Lomond, On A Birthday’ by J. David Graham The Society November 2, 2017 Beauty, Culture, Poetry 1 Comment Just west of old Ben Lomond, high and gray, a downy-heathered island on a loch did soak our feet before we rowed away for western shores, to find a little dock in Luss. A pot of tea to warm our bones, and meat pies, piping hot, our stomachs fill. Through graveyards did we walk, under the stones arched high, where crossbones warn all men of ill. Then we betook ourselves ‘neath early stars and setting sun to bonny Balmaha where on the bank the ladies had begun to sing Loch Lomond’s Banks; thus, filled with awe, we sat and listened to the last refrain echoing out o’er Lomond’s glassy plain. J. David Graham lives with his wife and son in Charleston. As a student, he studies Classics and Creative Writing. He is also the poetry editor at Adversus Press, a magazine of Christian literature. NOTE: The Society considers this page, where your poetry resides, to be your residence as well, where you may invite family, friends, and others to visit. Feel free to treat this page as your home and remove anyone here who disrespects you. Simply send an email to email@example.com. Put “Remove Comment” in the subject line and list which comments you would like removed. The Society does not endorse any views expressed in individual poems or comments and reserves the right to remove any comments to maintain the decorum of this website and the integrity of the Society. Please see our Comments Policy here. Share this:Click to share on Twitter (Opens in new window)Click to share on Facebook (Opens in new window)Click to print (Opens in new window)Click to share on LinkedIn (Opens in new window)Click to share on WhatsApp (Opens in new window)Click to email this to a friend (Opens in new window)Click to share on Pinterest (Opens in new window) One Response NeoOvid33 November 2, 2017 I love how I participate in this sonnet. Your verse and choice of words apt. The high part for me was: A pot of tea to warm our bones, and meat pies, piping hot, our stomachs fill. Through graveyards did we walk, under the stones arched high, where crossbones warn all men of ill. Well done. Reply Leave a Reply Cancel ReplyYour email address will not be published.CommentName* Email* Website Notify me of follow-up comments by email. Notify me of new posts by email. This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.